


Phenomenal Inaccuracies

by Arvak



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Curiosity, Humor, M/M, Peter Hale's POV, Peter makes Stiles uncomfortable but Stiles secretly loves it, Peter wishes he could've bitten Stiles instead of Scott, Pre-Slash, obviously, posters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22024321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arvak/pseuds/Arvak
Summary: Peter's POV while he lewdly watches Stiles struggle to put up a poster. He realizes hecares.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 15
Kudos: 357





	Phenomenal Inaccuracies

**Author's Note:**

> Still working on that big story... I ended up not liking a twist I took and so I had to delete nearly half of what I had and rewrite it towards a different direction... I assume I'll do the same thing at least once more. But it's getting there!

He watched idly from the bed as Stiles struggled to put up a poster that illustrated the solar system in an inaccuracy that was nothing short of phenomenal. He didn't say anything, however, because as soon as he had cast his gaze upon the fantastical poster of colors and planets which were so terribly disproportioned he couldn't believe _Stiles_ of all people wanted it in his general vicinity, the dear boy he'd come to think of as a friend shot him his best glare and said, without even a word from Peter's lips, "I _know_ , but it looks _cool_."

He didn't often forget that Stiles knew more about a large range of things than he would ever let on. He had the power of curiosity, which plagued Peter as well. Nothing was left undiscovered by the two of them. He didn't often forget that Stiles was... dangerous. He had the capacity to be so much more than a human constantly taken for granted and forgotten about, cast aside, ignored. He had the capacity to ruin them all. Bury them all in the ground, without anyone ever knowing.

This kind of thinking was proving difficult.

Of late, he found himself constantly staring off into space (or at Stiles' ass) while his mind was wrenched to the past, to that first mistake... The first mistake, he thought, had been killing Laura, but during that state of half-crazed wildness, the only thing he'd actually regretted was biting the crooked jawed idiot instead of Stiles... Brilliant, beautiful Stiles. He constantly caught himself wondering how things would've ended up if he'd bitten him instead. They would've made such a great pack. An Alpha and his beta. He had always itched for more betas after Scott, but perhaps he wouldn't need more than one if that one was him... The perfect, clever little idiot currently teetering on the edge of a box filled with winter jackets while he grumbled at a misbehaving piece of tape.

Quickly distracted by Stiles' stretching, he took advantage of the chance to see his body while his clothes were pulled taut against his body. His eyes tracked the length of his fingers, his arms, the broadness of his back due to his newfound growth spurt, growing in muscle in all the right places. His chest, tapering down to a thin waist, and those long legs. Forever trapped underneath that offensively unflattering clothing.

If only he could convince Stiles to wear nice things for once. Perhaps some skinny jeans that were modest and not so glaringly bright colored they drew attention away from the sweet curve of his ass. And a dress shirt - a button down - fitted to perfection. He'd do the fitting himself, to ensure Stiles was dressed to his standards.

As his eyes roamed his body, he wondered if Stiles could sense the urges going through Peter's head. He wanted to undress him, touch every inch of skin with feather-light caresses as each article of clothing was slowly shed of his perfect body, then, after he was done with him and ready to release him back into the world, he wanted to dress him in the most flattering clothing he could find. He wanted people to finally see what he truly had underneath all of his layers, and he wanted them to be _jealous_.

He wanted Stiles to be his, and he wanted to know that no one could have him, save for himself. He wanted Stiles. In every way. In every position. He wanted to feel every movement of his body, every breath, every heartbeat. He wanted to hear every noise, feel every touch of his hands on his own body.

Damn it.

He sighed quietly and turned his head away to stare at the case board displaying gruesome photos and meaningless names and numbers to calm himself down. His mind tumbled down that track that's being ever trodden anew. He couldn't handle imagining having Stiles at his direct disposal, dependent on him, trusting of him, so close to him. The thought was so painful in its absence. He wanted it too bad. Dare he say he _yearned_ for it. He ached for Stiles' company. He ached for Stiles' innocence. He ached to make Stiles so perfectly his he could never be anyone else's.

The physical pull of pack with Scott had been so strong, and yet he didn't want it in the end. It was simply necessity. As soon as Stiles had asked if he was sure he wanted _Scott_ in his pack while they were in that parking garage, even wild, deep and quiet in his raging mind he thought, _No. No, you're the smart one. You're right; I don't want him, I want_ you.

 _"I like you, Stiles."_ He remembered saying, and remembered thinking, _I see your potential... "... Do you want the bite?" Please, I want you instead..._

_"What?"_

_"Do you want the bite? If it doesn't kill you - and it could - you'll become like us..."_ Even back then, if he hadn't truly respected the boy, he would've just taken him. He wouldn't have told him he could die from it. He wouldn't have asked. He _surely_ wouldn't have let him walk away after he said no, especially since he'd heard the fluke heartbeat of a lie.

He still wondered, to this day, why he lied to himself. Why did he still insist he didn't want to be strong? Why did he insist on being slow and vulnerable? Surely he didn't _enjoy_ being undervalued.

Peter looked over at Stiles again, and frowned. He wanted Stiles to take the bite - even if it had to be by Derek's teeth. With the bite, he would be safe. He would be able to heal the next time he gets kidnapped, he'd be able to hear a threat coming. He wanted him to be healthy, and, additionally, he wanted this stunning boy to live to his true potential. With the bite, he suspected that "Spark" that he has so much trouble with would suddenly become everything Deaton has always said it would become. Possibly more.

He sighed. This he was feeling? It was care. All of this was one not-so-subtle, drawn-out accumulation of _feelings_. And it was bothersome.

He was supposed to be the lone wolf. Forever alone; an Omega without direction, without emotional chains shackling him to the ones he loved. It was easier that way. It was easier to live without those chains. It was easier to _die_ without those chains. No one to miss, no one to be missed by.

He never wanted to feel care, love, or any of those disgusting emotions again - not after how it had felt to have all of that care and love he held for his family ripped away from him by the scalding hands of white-hot fire. He had hurt so deeply. It was a scar no amount of advanced healing could heal. Nothing could take that pain away. And he never wanted to experience it again.

So why- _why_ did Stiles have to come along and complicate everything?

"Peter."

He slowly blinked away his distressing thoughts and looked up, keeping hidden his inner distress, similarly trying not to react to that _look_ the boy was giving him. After all, he had obviously caught the direction of Peter's gaze, which had been cast plenty lower than eye level.

In that second of still silence, he thought about where his various choices of actions would lead him, and decided on a whim to allow his eyes to fall again, now perfectly aware of Stiles' observation. He let them trace all the way down his lean body, lingering appropriately on his fuckable ass and his waist - right where his shirt had ridden up just the slightest bit to reveal tight skin and a delicious trail of hair that led beneath his jeans. He wanted to press up against his back and slide his hand under his shirt to feel that skin himself. He wanted to feel it quiver under his delicate touch.

After a moment, he looked back up into those whiskey brown eyes. He was across the room from him at the moment, but he could remember the times they were closer. Close enough he had been able to stare into them. Their color had been enough to put the luxurious smoothness of sweet, aged bourbon whiskey on his tongue for the remainder of their time together.

He longed for a _taste_.

"Um, wow, okay," Stiles said, and Peter cracked a smirk when he finally payed attention to the jack-rabbit speed of the boy's heart. He could almost feel the heat radiating from the blush blooming wonderfully on his cheeks. "Well, when you're done like... planning all the ways to take advantage of my very vulnerable position, can you help me with this damn thing?"

"I think you're managing quite well on your own, dear. Carry on."

Peter continued watching, and didn't budge from his relaxed spot on Stiles' bed. It wasn't his idea to put up the poster. He had actually verbally expressed his lack of enthusiasm for the new aesthetic update.

At least, he supposed, he'd gotten rid of all the pop-culture posters. Now, the things decorating his walls were mathematics and science related - he could certainly appreciate those. As well, there were a few supernatural-related posters, but that was just a misfortune he'd have to deal with, or so said the boy himself.

Stiles stared at him, his kissable lips parted just slightly in that usual look which Peter could assume the boy was running down several tracks of logic at once, trying to decode some kind of mystery. Once, Stiles had described his "process" as "creating several different realities, setting however many variables I- you know- might need? And then it just kinda... takes off. And whichever one ends where I want it to, or something- sometimes it's just whatever makes the most sense - that's the one I pay attention to and it's usually right... I think..." Then he had eloquently finished his ramble with a flippant, "I dunno, it's weird."

After Stiles finished his "process", landing on a desirable reality - or, evidently, possibly not finding any answer at all - he frowned suspiciously, then hopped off of the box. Peter's eyes tracked him across the room, curious as ever, and then he was utterly disappointed when Stiles wrapped up in his over-sized robe to continue working.

Peter wanted to huff like a child and accuse Stiles of not being fair. Instead, like the adult he was, he smirked and rolled his eyes... then grabbed whatever book was on his nightstand and began reading it.

He may or may not have purposefully "misplaced" Stiles' bookmark, placing it, instead, at what seemed to be a very heated sex scene - possibly the only sex scene in the entire book - between a fugitive and the morally-compromised agent that was sent to kill him.

Stiles was a smart boy. He'd figure it out.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my very first crack at Peter's POV. It's short, because I gotta get a feel for him, you know? Maybe more to come. If I don't add a second chapter to this (which I may... or may not...), then I definitely will write more stories with Peter's POV. I feel like I could totally get down with some emotionally-scarred, PTSD-inflicted psychopathy, and a deep emotional (and physical) attraction to a brilliant cunning boy who could be just as calculating as he himself is.


End file.
